What a drug (A House MD fanfiction)
by SpecialPotassium97
Summary: House is bored, and scotch and Vicodin go oh so well together. Wilson finds the results. Attempted suicide fanfic, warnings for swearing and triggers of suicide. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey Guys! This is the second fanfic I've written, this time about Gregory House. It's pretty heavy and may contain triggers for some people, so be careful guys. But I'm pretty proud of it so far. Hope you enjoy, I own none of the characters and this is purely fictional. **

**Please Read and Review, it means a lot! Thanks and enjoy! x**

**What a drug.**

The record crackled as the needle scratched on the middle of the plastic. Sighing, Gregory House opened his eyes and took the needle back to the edge, letting the gentle music wash over him for the tenth time that evening. He let his neck drop once again to the floor, the wooden boards cool against the back of his head. Relishing the sounds that trickled in and out of his ears for the last time.

House was by no means a coward. He said what he thought, and acted the way he wanted to. It was his greatest asset and his greatest flaw. People either loved or hated him for it. But for some reason, this decision lacked his usual confidence and self-assurance. He had sat, debating with himself, aided by a bottle of scotch, until he had finally reached the decision to put on a record and think with the help of music. The letters had been written in his usual minimalist style, one to Wilson, one to Cuddy, one to his mother and one addressed to his team; Chase, Cameron and Foreman. In the scrawly pen marks of a slightly drunken man, House thanked each of them for their company and gave individual goodbyes. The four letters glared at him from the top of the piano, the white envelopes reflecting off of the smooth black of the piano lid.

Twirling his cane, House sighed again, swigged from his glass, and tried to muster up the courage to kill himself.

James Wilson had been worried about his friend Gregory House recently. The man had been acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual. He seemed so, distant… and unconnected. He wouldn't even respond to playful taunts and jokes anymore. Just stare into the air with glazed eyes, thinking. About what Wilson had no idea, but he was pretty sure it wasn't medical. His diagnoses on patients had been getting worse, more lives were lost than saved, and House didn't seem to bat an eyelid. All of which was out of character, even for somebody as complex and spontaneous as House.

So, Wilson had made the decision to go over to 221B and talk to House about what was bothering him, at the very least he hoped to get a few jokes out. He picked up a takeaway and a 6 pack of beer to lessen the awkward atmosphere, knowing that house couldn't resist Chicken Chow Mein. The bag stank up his car as he drove over to House's apartment, humming quietly, Wilson planned roughly what he intended to say to his best friend. Something along the lines of "Are you okay?" and "How much Vicodin are you taking at the moment?" He made a mental note to begin by showing House the food, before diving into the deep end of conversation.

House took in a deep breath before using the sofa as leverage to get onto his feet. He pulled the cane off the floor and let his hand grip the familiar groove. He moved to the bathroom, picking the scotch up on his way, and rifled through the medicine cupboard until he found his stash.

Vicodin. Vicodin. Vicodin. What a drug.

Instant pain relief in a tiny pill. He knew he was an addict, but he couldn't quite be bothered to care. It was the perfect way to end him. Predictable, yes, but perfect. He swigged at the scotch and turned over the bottle in his hand, staring at the stash in the cupboard. One bottle would do, but should he take two just to make sure? He couldn't deny it added dramatic effect to the whole situation, and that was never a bad thing. He gently took out two full bottles of Vicodin and closed the cupboard. His reflection stared at him emptily in the cupboard front mirror. His eyes were bluer than ever and the salt and pepper hair sat at unnatural angles on his head. There were more wrinkles scratched into his skin than before, and as he looked at himself, he sighed. There was nothing left for him, the look of loss in his own eyes confirmed that. He turned away, disgusted, and limped back into the sitting room.

The traffic lights were taking ages to change, and the smell of the takeaway was wafting into Wilson's nose. His stomach rumbled hungrily and he tapped the steering wheel with impatient fingers. "Come on…Come on…" He muttered to himself. The red light finally changed to amber and he put his foot on the gas, lurching the car forwards, and causing the bag of Chinese to fall off the passenger seat. Wilson glanced over at the open plastic tubs on the floor and sighed, deciding to deal with it when he got to House's. He focused on the road and tried not to think about the mess of mashed noodles and sauce covered rice on the carpet of his car.

He changed the record, letting the smooth jazz fill the room. Massaging his bad leg, he sat on the sofa. Glancing at the piano, Gregory House poured the scotch into a glass, raised a goodbye toast alone, and reached for the Vicodin. He tipped the contents into the palm of his hand, moving his fingers to feel the small white pills. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he tipped the pills onto his tongue, and with the other hand, downed the glass of scotch and the tablets. He clumsily poured himself another one, and picked up the second pre-opened bottle of pain relief. He followed the same routine, the whole bottle of Vicodin, followed by what was left of the bottle of scotch. And then he lay back against the sofa, closed his eyes, and waited.

Scraping the last of the egg rice off the floor, Wilson put the tub in the bag and tied it, tightly. He got out of the car and moved to the passenger's side to get the food and the beer, and then locked the car and made his way towards the door of House's flat. He still had the key House had given him, so let himself in to the main entrance. He started making his way up the stairs, juggling with the food and the keys whilst trying to hold the handrail. Cursing as he dropped his keys.

The edge of his vision was darkening. Dots of black seeped in as he slipped slowly into unconsciousness and he smiled as the world slowed down around him. The music faded as he listened to the roar of blood in his ears. Air blew past him softly, and something cold hit his cheek. He opened his eyes to see the hardwood floor, and lay with the realisation that he had fallen off the sofa. And it hadn't hurt.

Vicodin. What a blessing.

He closed his eyes again and grimaced slightly as he felt something acidic crawl up with throat. But it was okay, because the darkness was getting stronger and with it came numbness. Beautiful numbness that crept up from the bottom of his toes, spreading into his legs, blessing his bad thigh, and slowly the cold and quiet made its way to his head. A burst of happiness sparked in his head, and he laughed, gagging on the foam and vomit that had gone unnoticed in his state of limbo. He was shaking. He couldn't feel it, but he could see through blurred, wet vision the tremors breaking through his fingers, causing his arm to hit the floor repeatedly. He knew that if pain was available, that would hurt. He could taste salt on his tongue, and realised that he was crying. What a way to go… what a drug…

The last thing that Gregory thought before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the darkness claimed him was "fuck."

He put the bags down on the floor and put his key in the lock. He didn't bother to knock, knowing after years of experience that House would ignore him completely. He'd learnt to just let himself in. The door to flat B creaked open, and Wilson called out to his best friend. When he got no reply, he just carried on talking, used to the silence, and confident that with enough wafting of food, House would appear. He busied himself rifling through the bags and talking to air,

"Hey House, I brought beer, and Chicken Chow Mein… I know we didn't plan this, but I thought we could, I dunno, chat? House? House?"

Wilson frowned and looked around the flat. Usually by this point there would be the familiar sound of a cane followed by footsteps and the unmistakeably grumbling of Gregory House. So where was he? His car was outside… And walking long distances by choice just didn't happen due to the bad leg… He couldn't be at Cuddy's, or any of the team's, because they would have paged…

"…House?"

Wilson called with more uncertainty than before. He put the food down and stepped forward hesitantly, looking around for his friend. He saw a flash of white, and cautiously made his way over to the piano. In a line were four envelopes… and one had his name on it.

Oh shit.

"House?! HOUSE!"

Wilson clutched the letter in his hand, unopened as he moved quickly around the flat. Something sticky came underfoot, and he looked down to see a liquid that was frothy, a mixture of yellows greens, reds and whites. Small chunks floating around inside the concoction. Sick.

Wilson's eyes followed the trail back to the source and he saw something brown and grey. Hair.

ShitShitShit

He ran towards the hair and puke and found House, unconscious and on his back beside the bottom of the sofa. His face was slick with sweat and his mouth covered in the vomit Wilson had seen earlier. Pills were scattered everywhere and the stench of alcohol was strong.

ShitShitShit

He grabbed his friend and pulled on his shoulders until he was lying on his side in the recovery position. Slapping his face and pleading for him to open his eyes. To let Wilson see his reflection in those garishly blue, beautiful, alive eyes. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Cuddy, demanding that she send the best paramedics to 221B NOW.

"House?! House you… House why?! You stupid bastard!" He pushed House back on the position he was found in, stomach facing the ceiling, and began CPR compressions.

"Come on…Come on…Come on…" Wilson whispered the words like a mantra, tears falling down his face as he pushed on his best friend's chest in a desperate attempt to revive him. The envelope crackling and crumpling as he pushed over and over until his arms ached. Blue and red lights flashed in the window lighting up House's face and contorting it. Wilson barely noticed as the men entered the room, the door left open from his entrance earlier. One man pushed him out the way and took over the CPR, another grabbed Wilson by the shoulders, steering him away from the scene to join Cuddy. Who stood in the doorway with her hand over her mouth and eyes wide and tear filled with shock.

_**To be continued…Hope you guys enjoyed it, bit dark but angst is easiest to write in my opinion! Please read and review. It would mean a lot. Will put the next part up soon! **_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two. **

**Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, they really helped motivate me to continue on with this story. Again I don't own any of the characters, I'm not intending to copy anything, just want to tell a story. And warnings for swearing. **

**Thanks for reading! **

The white envelope crackled as it was turned over and over in Wilson's hands. He didn't have the courage to open it. If House didn't make it this time…these would be some of the last words he gave to the world. And Wilson didn't think he deserved to read them.

It was hectic tonight, the hospital. He could have sat in Cuddy's office, or his own, but he chose to stick it out on the hard red plastic chairs. That way he was closer to House and further from reality. He should have predicted it really. But he thought that a Chinese and some beer would stop anything like that before it started. Typical that he was late. Or maybe House was early? Early to drop out of Earth. He did look for stupid things to do with himself- electrocution just to prove a point being a prime example.

Fuck.

What an idiot. He should have gone around sooner, before House had the chance to… Maybe they could have talked. House wouldn't have done it with Wilson there. But he might have done it after Wilson left. So it was lucky really, wasn't it that he had walked in soon after House had… Lucky he'd had a key, and had chosen that night. Was it luck? He'd fucked up as a friend. As a supposed "best" friend. And House had fucked him over too. That wasn't fair. House was just too stubborn to talk to anybody about anything. Other than crude remarks and sarcastic jives, he didn't exactly have heart to hearts. He was too clever for his own good, it left him thinking that he was okay as a one man machine, when he clearly wasn't. Or Wilson wouldn't be sitting there, crumpling a piece of paper he was afraid to open. He smoothed out the crinkles carefully and put the envelope in his jacket pocket, too tired to hear that noise anymore.

Nurses in scrubs ran back and forth, doctors checked charts with wise expressions, phones rang, announcements were heard, and he… well, he just sat there, observing. Wilson felt something soft go down his cheek and put his hand to his face. Great. He was crying. He wiped away the unwelcome tears and put both his hands over his face. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, he allowed himself to feel the exhaustion seeping into his body. And he closed his eyes, sighing softly at the magnificent mess he was in.

"Doctor Wilson…? Uh, sir are you okay? Doctor Wilson?"

Wilson opened his eyes slowly, blinking as the white hospital light hit them. In front of him stood a young woman in a lab coat, and she was nervously shifting her weight from leg to leg.

"Doctor Wilson?"

He nodded softly, still adjusting to the waking world. She seemed relieved that she'd woken who she was supposed to, and carried on in a high pitched voice that screamed "Newbie."

"Sir, um, Doctor House has you listed as his next of Kin... We um, just need you to fill in some forms and um, he's okay." She shook her head, as if trying to erase what she'd just slipped out.

"I mean, he's in a stable condition, we, he, he's okay now." She pulled the forms off the clipboard clumsily and passed them to him with shaky hands. She smiled a half smile that didn't reassure him in any way, turned around and walked quickly away, looking as if any minute she would break into a sprint.

Wilson looked at the paper in his hands, and groaned quietly. He stood up, put the forms down on the chair to his left and got a pen from the nurse's station before he sat down and began to fill out details about House that House didn't know Wilson knew.

He crushed the envelope, just to know it was still in his hand, and tentatively stepped through the doorway. He'd been watching through the glass for about an hour as his friend slept, not daring to go in and disturb the only bit of peace House got. But he needed to sit down, and he needed to watch House, wait for him to wake up. Wilson needed to know he was okay. He hadn't seen Cuddy since the paramedics had taken House off into the emergency unit, Cuddy followed, Wilson got told to sit down and stay put. Why wasn't she in here?

Wilson stared out of the window at the leaves dancing in the wind. Soaring into the air only to be brought crashing back down to earth. He couldn't help but wonder if that was how House would feel when he woke up…Like he'd been robbed of the chance to fly away from the world. He'd be grumpy that was for sure.

Wilson looked at his friends face. He seemed so much, older than before. Like he'd suddenly aged 30 years overnight. Wilson looked around the oxygen mask and tubes to see that his hair was peppered with grey flecks, and his skin was wrinkled and pale. A bruise had blossomed on his cheek from the impact of hitting the floor. He looked weak for once. No witty retorts to this one. No way. Wilson wasn't going to let him hide this time, look at what had happened. The machine beeped evenly, measuring the heart rate of an unconscious man. And condensation came and went inside the plastic container over House's lips.

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes with a weary fist. Yawning, he allowed his eyes to wander around the room, taking it all in. Funny, he was so used to being in these rooms, but he'd never properly looked at one before. It wasn't that exciting really. Sterile. But exciting wasn't its purpose, it was there to heal the sick. That said, a few cushions on the visitor chair would have been nice. Wilson turned on the TV to try and keep himself awake, letting voices and music and adverts wash over him as a distraction.

"You shouldn't watch this crap you know" croaked a small voice from behind him.

Wilson's eyes shot over to the bed and he swivelled around to see his friend. House had taken off the oxygen mask and was trying to speak again. Wilson poured him some water and hastily, but carefully poured it into House's mouth.

House smiled crookedly "Read my mind" Wilson laughed quietly. House took a moment with the oxygen mask again before closing his eyes with tiredness. Wilsons face suddenly dropped in seriousness, not quite able to pretend he wasn't here with his suicidal best friend. He couldn't jump in heavily just yet though, House wouldn't respond well. But, on the other hand, House had nowhere to go… Maybe it was the perfect time to ask.

"House, I..." Wilson fiddled with the edge of the envelope, the music from an advert playing in the background.

"Don't." Came the blunt response. House still had his eyes closed, but the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't playing games.

"House I need to know. I need to know Why. Why you…"

"You know why James. So don't." With that House Put the mask on again and made it clear that there would be no more talking that night.

Wilson sighed, turned around and fixed his eyes on the screen, tears blurring his already compromised


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews, really helping me out. I finally figured out where to go with this story, it's difficult to navigate and to get the character voices right. I don't own any of the characters, this is pure fiction and a way to let my imagination out. Thank you for reading and please keep reviewing! Next chapter will be up soon! x**

Chapter Three

He sucked in as much air as his lungs could handle before exhaling slowly and repeating the process over and over again. In. Out. In. Out. In.

He held his breath as his thumb eased its way inside the paper fold. Gently pulling to rip the seal of the envelope open, moving his thumb along and listening to the rip of paper.

Out. In. Out.

He exhaled, feeling like he'd taken the first big step. Opening the envelope that had been battered ever so gently over the past few days. He closed his eyes and let out a long steady sigh. Trying to prepare himself for House's suicide note. He pulled it open and slowly pulled out the folded piece of paper. He opened it up with shaky hands and smoothed the paper of creases. When he satisfied, he looked down, and let the words dance over his eyes.

"_James. I don't do soppy goodbyes, you know that. _

_I'll miss you wherever I end up. Not that I believe in Heaven or Hell or anything else, but if you do ever find me in some alternate dimension, bring beer. And Vicodin. _

_I know that I didn't tell you, but I stuck to my own rule,_

_Everybody lies. _

_Goodbye Wilson. Thanks for everything. _

_House."_

Wilson felt salty tears streak down his cheeks as he re-read the words over and over again. This was it? These were the last words House would have given him. No explanation, no apology. He'd thanked him, and said he'd miss him sure, but he was leaving Wilson to wonder what he'd done wrong forever. If House had succeeded, Wilson could never ask the question "why?" Maybe he could make educated guesses, but he'd never be told the proper reason.

A surge of anger overcame him. He'd been terrified to open this, to see what heartfelt secrets poured out, and all he got was a mantra he'd been told everyday he'd known Greg. "Everybody lies"

It made him wonder what the others got. If Wilson was House's supposed "Best friend" and this was all he was given, what did the team have? What did he tell his mother? Cuddy probably got some sexual remark like "You had nice tits when I was alive" And it wasn't good enough dammit.

Wilson stood up, shaking as he wiped the tears from his face. He needed answers, and he could only get them from one man. One man, who was currently lying in a hospital bed, with wires around him, no pain medication, and no way out from being questioned. And Boy, did Wilson have questions.

He stormed through the corridors, the paper scrunched up in his hand. His only focus being to get an honest answer out of House. Nothing could stop that from happening, not the nurses, not the doctors, not cuddy, not drugs, not machines, not the sky, not the tv, not even God. Nothing could stop Wilson from getting this. Noth-

Huh?

Wilson stared at the empty bed. And looked around the room. He checked the door to see if he was in the right place. Looking around, behind the curtain to see if House was smoking, under the rumpled blankets incase he'd found a way to hide.

Where had he gone?

"Nurse!" Wilson called out the door. Noting that there was a hint of panic rising through his throat. "Yes?" A young woman in purple scrubs came to a stop in front of Wilson.

"Where's the patient? Where's the man who's meant to be in this bed?"

The nurse looked confused, and looked past Wilsons shoulder to the bed. Which she saw to be empty. "He, he was…He's... He was here a minute a-a-go I swear"

Wilson swore under his breath and turned away from the stammering nurse, who was trying to figure out how she'd been fooled by a dishevelled, limping man. He went over to the bed to see if House had taken his personal things with him, meaning that he'd gone back to the flat. But his clothes were still there, neatly folded by the nurse on the chair. On top of his clothes was a napkin, with a scrawl on it.

"_I don't need saving." _

SHIT.

Wilson went into panic mode and ran to the nurse's station, screaming at them to find out where Gregory House was. "HE WAS HERE A MINUTE AGO, HE CAN'T HAVE GONE FAR! HE'S MEANT TO BE ON SUICIDE WATCH! GO! GO!"

He ran through the white corridors of the hospital, trying to get his head together. He had no access to Vicodin or drugs, no access to knives or electricity or rope. No access to hei-

Wilson stopped dead in his tracks and broke into a sprint to the stairwell. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, heart racing in his chest threatening to burst out. His legs automatically pulling and pushing, moving his body forwards and upwards to the rooftop door.

He shoved his shoulder against the door and pushed the bar, barely noticing the pain from impact. White sunlight hit his eyes and he shielded his face with his arm, frantically looking around for House.

Please please please please please please.

A tall figure stood at the edge of the rooftop. Arms by his sides. The light danced on his hair and shoulders, making his outline stronger. His feet curled against the concrete ledge. His hospital gown swayed slowly in the breeze and he looked forwards, seeming defiant and calm from Wilson's view of House's back.

"H-house?"

In a shaky voice Wilson whispered his name. Barely believing the sight in front of his eyes.

He stretched out a hand and slowly walked forwards. Raising his voice slightly, he called out again.

"House? House, I'm here. It's o-o-k-kay."

The figure stayed in the same position. Only Wilson could see his fingers curl into fists of frustration.

"Turn around, Please. J-just turn around House." Inching his way forward Wilson began to prepare himself to pull House off the edge and back onto the roof.

"I thought you could read." House's voice was soft, but sharp. A slight wobble was the only sign he'd been crying.

Wilson tensed slightly at his friend's voice. "I can." He replied.

"Then go away. Leave me alone Wilson. I don't want you here"

"Turn around Greg."

"Leave."

"Turn around."

"No."

"I'll leave if you turn around."

"No you won't. You're lying. Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"I'm just following your rule. Everybody lies. Remember?"

Wilson was so close to him now. Just a few more feet and could grab the back of the hospital gown.

House looked down. Letting the adrenaline rush hit him as he took in the drop. Imagining the air rushing past his face as his whole body flew, for the briefest of seconds in the air. Before everything went dark, and he was taken by whatever force lay on the "other side"

He lifted his arms to feel the breeze and turned his head ever so gently around to look at Wilson. Wanting to see a friendly face before he left.

Wilson saw the redness around the eyes, the puffy skin and the bloodshot eyeballs. Noticed the glisten of water on his cheeks, and the slight tremor of his lip. But even with all of this, House smiled. He took a breath, swallowed and smiled at Wilson.

"You always did follow my rules."

"Don't do this Greg. Don't you dare."

House inhaled. Letting the air fill his lungs as much as possible before giving that air back to the sky.

"I'm tired Wilson."

"Then take a nap! Don't jump off the edge of a building!"

"So, so tired."

House closed his eyes, and stretched out his arms. Muttering a soft, "Goodbye" before leaning forward, waiting for the last shot of adrenaline to hit.


End file.
